Anathema
by tfm
Summary: Some relationships don't take the conventional path. When an unsub threatens JJ's life, Emily pulls out all the stops to protect her, even if it means sacrificing her own life. Fslash. Em/JJ.
1. Overture

Anathema

_**o**__**ver**__**tur**__**e  
**_[oʊvərtʃər, -ˌtʃʊər]_**  
**__**–noun **_

_**1. an opening or initiating move toward negotiations, a new relationship, an agreement, etc.; a formal or informal proposal or offer: overtures of peace; a shy man who rarely made overtures of friendship. **_

_**2. Music.**_

_**a. an orchestral composition forming the prelude or introduction to an opera, oratorio, etc.**_

_**b. an independent piece of similar character.**_

_**3. an introductory part, as of a poem; prelude; prologue.**_

_**4. (in Presbyterian churches) **_

_**a. the action of an ecclesiastical court in submitting a question or proposal to presbyteries.**_

_**b. the proposal or question so submitted.**_

–_**verb (used with object) **_

_**5. to submit as an overture or proposal: to overture conditions for a ceasefire. **_

_**6. to make an overture or proposal to: to overture one's adversary through a neutral party. **_

Chapter One

She's sleeping blissfully when the doorbell wakes her. It's not often she sleeps this well, alone or otherwise, so the fact that she was torn from it so mercilessly has already put a damper on her mood. She groans, a hand reaching to the other side of the bed.

'JJ?' she mumbles. She can't remember – did JJ stay last night? The emptiness beneath her fingertips tells her that, no, JJ didn't stay last night. It takes her a few seconds to remember, mind still catching up. JJ had gone to her own apartment last night – they know they'll end up smothering each other if they spend all their time together.

She sits up, yawning and stares out the window of her apartment. A quick check of the clock tells her that it's almost five a.m, but she didn't really need to clock to know that. The sky is just the right shade of color to let her know that the world is on the cusp between night and morning. The light of the sun is just starting to creep in from below the horizon, stars beginning to fade.

She blinks once. Twice. Why did she wake up? It wasn't the nightmares. She has become so used to the nightmares now that they are just like any other dream. She might shift a little in her sleep, but she doesn't wake up screaming in cold sweats anymore. They have become just another one of those things that happens, like a serial rapist in Michigan, or a phone call from her mother saying that she'll have to skip their lunch date (a date that's already been rescheduled four times).

Doorbell.

The word flashes in her mind, as if she's only just realizing what the noise was. She stands, body fatigued in spite of the six hours of sleep she's had – already, that's five hours more than any other night this week.

'_Who the hell calls at this hour_?' she wonders. Part of her hopes that it's JJ, but the rational, logical part of her knows that Jennifer Jareau would have called before ringing her doorbell at five o'clock in the morning, and besides, JJ needs her _space_. Thinking back, she knows there wasn't so much malice in the word, but it certainly feels that way when she's waking up to an empty bed.

She knows she's like a puppy sometimes – a little bit overzealous in her willingness to please. It's a character trait she had adopted a long time ago, moving from place to place, having to forge new friendships. It's something that's hard to let go of when you finally find a niche in the world.

She retrieves her service weapon from the nightstand; a doorbell at four o'clock in the morning is already suspicious enough, but she's seen enough death, enough horror, to know that terrible things can happen at any time. She holds the weapon in a practiced grip, realizing only then how comically underdressed she must be. Gun or no, it is never a good idea to answer the door dressed in panties and a tank top. She shrugs the pale blue silken dressing gown on, tightening the belt around the waist.

She descends the staircase like a somnambulist caught in limbo, not quite committed to either the waking world, or the dream world. There's that silence, downstairs, the kind of silence that only occurs when she's alone. It is so still, so lifeless. She hates that silence.

She checks through the peephole, and sees that there is no-one there. She swears. If someone is going to go to and ring her doorbell at five o'clock in the morning, they should at least have done her the courtesy of sticking around a little longer than thirty seconds. Anything that justified such an early visit was surely worth that much.

Of course, they could still be out there, walking away even as she's standing there, thinking. She grips the gun just a little tighter, and opens the door. There's no-one there. She looks to the left. She looks to the right. No-one. Then she looks down.

And she sees the envelope.

***

Emily Prentiss thinks about the first time she met Jennifer Jareau. It's been almost three years now; three years that she has kept this desire hidden from her co-workers. Hidden from everyone. Everyone except JJ, that is.

She has just left Agent Hotchner's office for the second time when she sees the blond woman at the end of the hallway. They share a glance, and the blond woman gives her a small smile. This is all it takes for Emily Prentiss to become smitten.

She got off to a bad start with Agent Hotchner – it's the kind of start no loyal, hard-working agent wants. It's a start that is fraught with suspicion, with mistrust. For a moment, Emily wonders what she has done in life to deserve this sort of treatment. Since before she had even joined the Bureau, before she had finished school, she had been trying to prove herself, and, though the results were exemplary, no-one seemed to care.

Emily Prentiss is surprised then – relieved, even, when Jennifer Jareau introduces herself with a warm handshake.

'…I spoke to Section Chief Strauss,' Agent Jareau is saying. 'It seems that there _was_ a mix-up with the paperwork, or at least, that's her excuse.'

'What do you mean?' asks Emily, even though she's half mesmerized by the woman before her.

'She doesn't like our unit very much,' is the answer, accompanied by a forced smile. Despite its origins, Emily thinks that it is a smile she could get used to. 'Or rather, she doesn't like Agent Hotchner. I think she thinks he's looking to take her job. But – and don't get me wrong, he would make a good Section Chief – I think leaving the BAU would kill him.'

It's an honest, matter-of-fact assessment, and Emily really appreciates it. All too often she is brushed off, ignored. With some hint of nervousness in her voice, she informs Agent Jareau of this gratitude.

'Please, call me JJ. And effective communication is part of my job, so there's no need to thank me.' Emily nods, but the first impression she has of the media liaison remains intact.

Agent Jareau – JJ – then offers to give Emily a brief tour, and Emily is quick to take her up on it. She finds herself eager to spend time with the other woman.

Emily watches for a few seconds as JJ continues down the hall, blond hair shining against a dark suit jacket. Then, she follows.

***

It's off-white, a little thicker than regular paper. A No. 14 envelope; 5 x 11 ½ inches. "Special Agent Emily Prentiss" is written on the front in neat capital letters. No address. No stamp. No postmark. Left at the door at five o'clock in the God damn morning.

Or, she reasons, it could have been left at the door any time in the past eight hours, with the doorbell being a completely unrelated event, but she doesn't think so. She has the gut feeling that this is important, and not in the sunshine and daisies kind of way.

The Special Agent inside her kicks in. She grabs a Kleenex from the kitchen bench, and picks the envelope up by the corner. She puts it down on the coffee table, and shuts the apartment door behind her.

There's a pair of dishwashing gloves in the cupboard beneath the sink. She wonders briefly the last time she used these gloves; the last time she did the washing up. It has been months, at least. Next, she takes the paring knife from the cutlery drawer. It's made of a high carbon stainless steel, and she paid a fair bit for the set. She uses the knives a little more often than she does the dishwashing gloves, but not nearly enough to justify the exorbitant price tag.

With the gloves on, and the knife in her right hand, she slices underneath the flap of the envelope. She wonders briefly if she should invest in a letter opener, but she knows that it will just become another one of those household objects that sits around gathering dust while she's in a hotel room in California, or Texas, or Illinois. The cut is neat, testifying to the quality of the knife.

Gloved fingers extract the envelope's contents. They're photographs, she realizes instantly. There are at least two dozen of them. She frowns, noticing the subject of the first photograph.

It's JJ.

She remembers that day; they had just gotten back from a case, and JJ was exhausted, but she didn't let that get her spirits down. The media liaison had dragged her, Morgan and Garcia out to a bar she couldn't even remember the name of, and proceeded to trounce them all thoroughly in a game of darts. She was wearing a black singlet that contrasted nicely against her hair. She looks good in black.

Brow furrowing, she flips through the rest of the photos. Some of them are of JJ. Some of them are of her. Some of them are of her and JJ together. Some of them are of her and JJ _"together_." She knows that whoever took these photos is organized. Organized enough to take a photo when they're six states over on a case, organized enough to take a photo of things that no-one else was ever meant to see. Shit. That probably means there are cameras in her apartment. She gets the shivers just thinking about it.

Her first thought is to call someone – someone on the team, preferably. She thinks that maybe Garcia will be able to do something about the cameras, that maybe Reid might give her some disturbing statistic about stalkers that comforts her nonetheless. Before she can decide on whom she wants to call, though, she is pre-empted. The harsh ringing sound cuts through that deathly silence, and if it wasn't for the fact that she has an idea of who is going to be on the other end, she would be grateful.

Gun gripped in one hand, she answers the phone. She's still shaking, but she doesn't want to admit it.

'Hello?'

'_Did you get my little gift?_' The voice is distorted. Already, that tells her something – that the person is someone whose voice she might recognize.

'I did. What do you want?' It's an open-ended question. She needs to find out as much as possible. God knows this person already has enough information about her.

'_All in good time, Agent Prentiss. All in good time._'

**A/N: The muse has grabbed me pretty tightly on this one, so I'm posting it now. Emily/JJ is one of those pairings that I've never really seen happening, so, of course, I was forced to take it upon myself to attempt to write it in such a way that would make sense. Maybe. I don't know. There are a couple of chapters of this already written, so the more reviews, the faster they'll go up.**


	2. Alembic

Anathema

_**a**__**lem**__**bi**__**c**_**  
**[əˈlɛmbɪk]**  
**_**–noun**_

_**1. a vessel with a beaked cap or head, formerly used in distilling.**_

_**2. anything that transforms, purifies, or refines.**_

Chapter Two

He makes the rules perfectly clear. If she tells anyone, speaks to anyone about the events of the night, then some very nasty things will be happening to Jennifer Jareau. Emily bites her lip; she knows that if this man has wormed his way into her life so easily without being noticed, then killing JJ will be child's play.

'_I'll be watching_,' he says. Then, all Emily hears is the dial tone. Her first reaction is confusion – who _is_ the man – at least, she thinks it's a man – who seems so intent on coercing her? Her second reaction is anger – who the hell does he think he is? She makes an attempt to calm herself down. She isn't going to gain anything if she flies off the handle. Her third reaction is that she needs to get the hell out of this apartment.

She pulls on a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Undressing completely now that she knows that there is at least one hidden camera in the apartment is a no-go. Understanding that it is probably already too late is even more disconcerting.

With a little more determination than usual, she attaches the duty holster containing her Glock 19 to the right side of her belt, and the magazine pouch on the left. On instinct, she retrieves an extra magazine, and pockets it. The Glock 19 typically uses a fifteen round magazine, meaning that if anything goes wrong, Emily has forty-five bullets at her disposal. She doesn't usually carry a backup weapon, but today she straps on the Glock 27 that has been gathering dust in the gun safe for several months. That puts her up to fifty-four bullets. She doesn't know what the threat level of this unsub is, but she's willing to bet that it's high, and she doesn't want to be unprepared for the inevitable showdown.

Emily has never been one to use physical violence as a first resort. She can remember every single person that she has killed in the line of duty. Their faces haunt her nightmares, sometimes, alongside the victims that they failed to save, the victims they _will _fail to save. A life snuffed out because of her actions. Today, she's packing the extra heat, because, quite frankly, she's worried. She doesn't like the fact that someone – a very bad someone – managed to get this close to her. She's not going to shoot first and ask questions later – that was never her style. But if push comes to shove, she's ready to put two into the chest.

She grabs her ready bag from the foot of her bed, almost tripping because she's too busy staring at the ceiling. Someone is watching her right now and there's absolutely fuck all she can do about it. For a moment, she hopes that they get a new case to day – a tough, grueling case that means all her thoughts are focused somewhere else. Maybe then, she'll get a chance to tell someone surreptitiously. Hell, even if she goes into work acting strange, they'll know that something is up. They are profilers after all.

The apartment door clicks shut behind her as she leaves, and she isn't quite sure when she'll be coming back again. Her personal space has been horribly violated, and no amount of ass-kicking or unsub catching is going to fix that.

Coffee is her first stop. It won't hide the bags under her eyes, or the expression of exhaustion, but at the very least, she'll have caffeine running through her system. Not wanting the cheap instant stuff that's usually found in the glass jugs of the break room, she drives around until she finds a place that is open at this time of the morning. Sitting at a table by the window with her café mocha and her blueberry muffin, she watches the world go by. She wonders if the man walking his dog is the person who is stalking her. She wonders if it's the barista who just served her coffee. She wonders if it's the Senator in the apartment next to hers, or the waiter at the local Thai restaurant. There aren't many people out on the street, and yet she is suddenly wary of all of them. The day is only just beginning – the hustle and bustle of rush hour hasn't quite hit yet.

It's quiet.

She thinks how nice it would be to just be stuck in this calm, uncaring daze for all eternity. Drifting through life. She wouldn't need to worry about any of the complications of life – personal or professional. But then, she wouldn't get the good moments either. Wouldn't get the thrill of solving a case, or the pleasure of going out for drinks afterwards with the team. Life, it seems is a double-edged sword. Live through the good, live through the bad. Lately, though, it feels like there is far too much of the bad.

It's always too much of the bad.

***

Emily has been in the Behavioral Analysis Unit almost six months before she can find the courage to ask Jennifer Jareau out for a drink. It's almost seven p.m, and the team has just flown back from San Francisco. She's pacing the hall outside JJ's office, wringing her hands.

'Emily?'

She almost has a heart attack right then and there. JJ is standing at the door, looking out at her curiously. She tries to speak, but her voice gets caught in her throat.

'Is there something wrong?'

With some effort, Emily nods. She's stared down some of the worst evil the world has to offer, but when it comes to her love life, it's like she's five years old all over again. And Jennifer Jareau is the monster under the bed.

'I…I was wondering. Did you, uh…Did you want to grab a drink? I mean, if you don't it's okay, but…If you do...' She's rambling at first, but then stops at the look on JJ's face. It's one of unabashed surprise, and already Emily knows that the answer is going to be a resounding "no."

'I'm sorry,' says JJ. 'I don't really…' She makes a vague gesture, trying to get her point across. When that fails, she turns to bluntness. 'I'm straight.'

'Oh…' The look of devastating disappointment lingers on her face for just a second, and then she has her mask back on. 'Sorry for disturbing you,' she says hurriedly, and turns to leave.

JJ opens her mouth. She wants to say something, but she doesn't know what. She's never been put in this kind of situation before. She is in charge of communication, and yet she has no clue what she can say to make this better.

Emily runs into Morgan on her way out. He gets her attention, grinning. 'Garcia and I were going for drinks. Did you want to come?'

She shakes her head just a little too quickly, and she knows Morgan notices, even if he doesn't know the reason why. 'I think JJ might be interested, though,' she suggests, and walks off quickly before he can say anything else.

Only when she's made it to her car does Emily let herself drop the façade. _'…stupid,'_ she thinks to herself. _'Stupid fucking idiot. You're a profiler; you should have known how she would react. Now you've gone and made a complete fool of yourself.'_

Then, she addresses the next problem at hand. _'What are you going to do now, Emily?'_

The next day, she knocks on the door of JJ's office, doing her best to keep her cheeks their usual alabaster. It won't help matters if she starts blushing now.

'Come in.'

She steps in, and shuts the door behind her. JJ looks up from her desk, clearly surprised at the identity of the visitor.

'I just wanted to apologize,' Emily says, before JJ can get a word out. 'I didn't really think things through, and I know I made you incredibly uncomfortable. For that I'm sorry.'

There's a long silence between them, and when JJ finally responds, Emily feels almost relieved. 'There's no need to apologize, Emily. _I'm_ sorry for being so candid. You surprised me.'

Emily nods, biting her lip. 'Um. I'd appreciate it if you didn't uh…spread this around. I'd prefer to let people know on my own terms.'

JJ nods, relieved. It's not something that she was planning on sharing anyway – for her own sake, and for Emily's.

'So are things okay between us? I mean…I really don't want this to affect the job.'

'Yeah,' says JJ. 'Things are okay.'

But she's not quite sure if it's the truth.

***

Emily dumps the ready bag under her desk, and slams the coffee down next to the keyboard. In spite of the lid, a small amount of brown liquid splashes onto the desk's surface. It's her second cup already, and she would be lying if she said that it did anything to help the foreboding feeling that was strangling her chest from within.

She's been putting together a preliminary profile in her head since she hung up the phone this morning. Male, probably. Thirty to forty. Intelligent, organized. Definitely something of a tech wizard. Inconspicuous enough that she hasn't noticed him. Motive? She won't know for sure until she finds out what he actually wants, but she's got a feeling that this is revenge based. And it makes her think. Who in her life has she pissed off that much? The list won't be a short one – just looking at the people she has arrested over the course of her career will take some time. That's without considering the possibility that it isn't her that's being targeted for revenge. She doesn't think that it's JJ the unsub is looking to exact revenge upon, though, and that's not an ego thing. That's profiling 101.

She's still sitting there, thinking, when Morgan comes in. Her eyes are locked on the half-empty coffee cup, and have been for the last thirty minutes.

'Are you having a staring contest with that coffee, or what?' he asks, and frowns when she doesn't answer straight away. Then he notices the other things; that she's clearly been here a while, and yet is staring at a coffee cup; that she's wearing jeans and a hoodie, when these days, he doesn't see her in anything less professional than an impeccably ironed pant-suit. His voice takes on a more concerned tone when he asks, 'Is everything alright?'

'Yeah,' she says eventually. 'I just…didn't sleep very well last night.' The first part is a lie, but the second part isn't. She considers being woken up by the doorbell at five a.m a bad sleep.

'Nightmares?' he asks. He knows that they all get the nightmares, no matter how much they want to hide it from their colleagues. It seems almost a requirement for being a BAU agent; gun, badge and chronic recurring nightmares. If he were to think about it even more cynically, he would add things like "severely debilitated social life" and "inability to form lasting relationships" to the list.

She shakes her head, but it isn't a direct denial. 'I don't know,' she says. 'Sometimes it feels like that the real world is the nightmare.'

He gives a sympathetic smile. 'I hear you,' he says, patting her on the back. She jumps slightly.

'_Stay calm_,' she reminds herself. '_It's just Morgan.'_ Then, a horrible thought strikes her. Who knows when she's out on a case? Who knows where she lives? It couldn't be a member of the team, could it?

She shakes it off as simple paranoia. These people are like family to her, to JJ. They would never do anything to hurt either of them.

And yet, she can't help but get the sinking feeling that she can't trust anyone.

**A/N: See? Reviewing gets you quick updates! Of course, this one was already written, but the sentiment remains. Keep that in mind when you see the little green button at the bottom of the page.**


	3. Verisimilitude

Anathema

_**ver**__**i**__**si**__**mil**__**i**__**tud**__**e  
**_[vɛrəsɪˈmɪlɪˌtud]  
_**–noun **_

_**1. the appearance or semblance of truth; likelihood; probability: The play lacked verisimilitude. **_

_**2. something, as an assertion, having merely the appearance of truth.**_

Chapter Three

It's nine a.m when Emily remembers that she still looks as though she has just woken up. Her hair is unbrushed, her face unwashed. She's still wearing her pajamas underneath her clothes. Leaning under the desk, she rummages through the ready bag, searching for her toilet bag, a t-shirt, and some clean underwear.

'Emily?' It's JJ's voice, and Emily's head shoots up, forgetting that it is currently just inches from the underside of the desk.

'Shit!' she says, rubbing with one hand the top of her head. In the other hand, she's holding a black lace bra, which she quickly tosses out of sight.

'Oh, God, sorry!' says JJ. 'I'll get some ice.'

'No, seriously, it's fine,' Emily interjects, before the blond can rush off. 'Just…did you need something?' She's staring at the floor, unwilling to meet JJ's eyes. She's eager for her to say what she needs to say, and then leave.

'I…could we talk?'

Emily hesitates. She wants to talk. It's all she's wanted since JJ left her out in the cold, so to speak. But right now, she's afraid if she's in the same room with JJ for any longer than a few seconds, she'll have a complete and total breakdown. 'I'm really busy right now, JJ. Can it wait?'

The strain in her voice is not entirely the result of the morning's events. Some of it is because two days ago, the person she thought she was in love with said that they needed to take a break. That she needs to think about some things. Emily may be a little bit naïve when it comes to relationships, but she knows when she's being pushed away.

'Okay,' says JJ, and if Emily was paying attention to the behaviors of those around her, she might have noted the dejected tone that JJ's voice has adopted. Might have noted the downcast look in her eyes. 'Briefing at ten,' she adds, in a completely different voice; it almost feels non-sequitur.

And then Emily's all alone. She thinks it's starting to become a thing. That maybe she's destined to be alone for the rest of her life. Be that as it may, she isn't going to let some psycho bastard kill her friend.

Shaking her head, she retrieves the bra, lest it be found later by a hapless colleague. In any case, she needs to go put it on. Her hand hovers over a more professional working outfit; she never wears jeans to work. Not anymore. It's not strictly frowned upon – Rossi wears jeans, and even Morgan does sometimes – but she stopped wearing jeans to work almost two years ago. She can't even remember the reason why. She thinks maybe it's just one of those things that has changed since she joined the BAU. One of those things that she adjusted slightly, to reaffirm her position here. The kind of chameleon-like behavior that she's been engaging in her whole life.

Today, all preconceptions are thrown to the wind.

***

It's been a little over eighteen months since Jennifer Jareau met Detective William LaMontagne Junior. Their first interactions are strange, Emily thinks. She sees the way that the Detective flirts, the way JJ responds awkwardly, as if she isn't quite sure what else to do.

Upon first glance, Emily is mistrustful of him. With the casual drawl in his voice, the persistent five o'clock shadow, the drooping of his eyelids, the smell of alcohol on his breath, she doesn't think much of his professionalism, or rather, the distinct lack of it. But then, against all odds, he surprises her. He's a good guy, but Emily can't help but hate him.

She's feeling low when she gets back to Quantico. The rest of the team dismisses it as the post-case blues that they all get occasionally. Plus, they're mostly focused on how Reid is coping. Emily finds herself grateful to slip through the cracks. In amongst it all, Morgan tells her about JJ handing the Detective her card at the crime scene, and he's saying "Well at least one of us is finally going to get some" kind of way, rather than an "I'm sorry for your loss" way. But that's only because he doesn't know.

The only other person who does know, it seems, is Garcia. The technical analyst often describes herself – in a facetious manner – as being omniscient, all knowing. It's not far from the truth, sometimes. She takes one look at the scene that greets her upon the team's arrival; looks at Emily's carefully hidden distress, looks at the spring in JJ's step. In just that one moment, she knows something is going on.

The others – the profilers – they don't notice. It's one of their shortcomings. It's one of the reasons why Elle left the Bureau, why Reid's problem went unchecked for so long. They're so focused on the job, they don't see what's going on right in front of them.

But Garcia isn't going to let this one go.

***

Staring into the bathroom mirror, Emily realizes just how tired she looks. It isn't just the lack of sleep, it's the stress, the job, a whole range of things just piling up, a weight on her shoulders. She wonders how long it will take for her to crack.

She decided on staying with the jeans – it's just another one of those little things that she's hoping someone will pick up on. Anywhere else, it wouldn't be considered too unusual, but here, at the BAU, it's a cry for help. After so many personal problems intruding on work, the unspoken moratorium on inter-team profiling has been loosened. They've learnt their lesson too many times already.

She's just about to brush her teeth with one of those tiny travel brushes when her phone rings. It has always been an ominous sound. Nine times out of ten, it's JJ calling her in on a case with a tired voice.

She knows she could never do JJ's job. Though she tries her hardest, she always seems to feel disconnected when talking to the victims, to the victims' families. JJ empathizes like it's nobody's business.

She checks the Caller I.D, and the glaringly telling "Number Withheld" greets her. There's only one person that this can be.

She answers without greeting. The ball is in his court.

'_Is it hard?_' are his first words. She frowns; she's not quite sure what he means. After a moment's silence, he elaborates. '_Is it hard to see her, and know you can't touch her? Is it hard to know that if you put one foot out of line, you'll be responsible for her death? Imagine that, Emily. Imagine her lifeless corpse, tortured and raped. And it will be all your fault. You need to act like nothing is wrong, Emily. Staring at coffee cups, and looking like you've just been hit by a truck isn't going to help you save her._'

Emily's breath catches in her throat. He's watching her _here_. He has eyes on Quantico. That means he's either good enough to hack into the system, or he works here. Neither thought comforts her.

'I'm working on that,' she replies bitterly. 'But forgive me if I'm not in the most professional mood. Someone's threatening to kill my ex-girlfriend.'

He gives a low chuckle that sounds bizarre when altered by the voice distorter. As if he's the leader of some evil empire, rather than just a guy on the other end of the phone. '_I know how proficient you are at pretending to be someone else, Emily. How long is it before they figure out who you _really_ are_?'

Her brow furrows. What does he know? What can he possibly know? The part of her with a past is tense, on edge. The profiler in her is a little more relaxed – it knows what his game is. It knows that he is trying to make her suspicious, make her second-guess herself, second-guess her friends.

'_Go now,_' he says. '_You have a case. _'

She frowns. Here comes that paranoia thing again.

Already, it's working, and there isn't a damn thing she can do to stop it.

***

When she walks into the conference room, she's feeling a little more refreshed. On edge, yes, but awake enough to realize the score. She needs to play this right, or a lot of people are going to get hurt.

She had taken the unsub's words to heart, and was now wearing a, on the whole, more professional outfit. Her make-up is impeccably applied, her hair even. They're subtle changes. It won't – it shouldn't – mean anything to the unsub, but to the people she spends every day with, she hopes it gets their attention. Unless, of course, one of them _is_ the unsub.

She tries to push the thought out of her head, but it is resilient in its stubbornness.

Sighing, she turns her attention to the front of the room – looking at the projector screen rather than at JJ. She feels her stomach lurch as the crime scene photos flash up. Three women – young, maybe thirty at the oldest. And they're blond. It's not that mousy color that some people like to call blond, it's that bright color that seems to light up the room. JJ's color.

'This message was left at the latest crime scene.' Another photo flashes up, and this one almost makes Emily vomit. Remembering his words, though, she can't do anything. She can just sit there.

"Do you like my little gift_?"_

She remembers his words from the first time they spoke: "_Did you get my little gift?_"

That can't be coincidence, can it? Either way, Emily gets the feeling that things are about to get a whole lot worse.


	4. Memento Mori

Anathema

_**me**__**men**__**to mo**__**r**__**i  
**_[məˈmɛntoʊ ˈmɔraɪ]  
_**–noun **_

_**1. (italics**__**) Latin. remember that you must die.**_

_**2. an object, as a skull, serving as a reminder of death or mortality.**_

Chapter Four

Emily finds herself staying behind after the briefing, until she and JJ are the only ones left in the conference room. JJ gives her a pained look.

'I thought you didn't want to talk,' she says bluntly. At that point, Emily realizes that there's _sadness_ in the media liaison's voice.

'_Oh, God, she thinks I hate her._'

Emily swallows nervously. 'I do want to talk. Just…not at work. I don't want this to interfere with the job.'

'_But it's already too late for that, isn't it?_'

'I just…I need you to be careful, okay?' She's trying as hard as possible to make it sound like friendly concern. She's afraid of what will happen if she decides to break this unsub's rules. It might be easier to catch him with the help of the team, but at what cost?

'This isn't the first time I've fit the victimology, Emily. I know I have to watch my back. Just like you do when it's the other way around.'

Emily bites her lip. What can she say? "JJ, some lunatic called me this morning and threatened to kill you?" It sounds silly, even in her head.

'There are some things I need to sort out,' she settles on. She can't stop the tears from shining in her eyes. 'But in the meantime, please, _please_ be careful.' She puts a hand atop JJ's, and for a moment they look into each other's eyes. They see what was. What is. What could have been.

Then Emily pulls away.

'I'm sorry,' she tells JJ, as she leaves the conference room.

'Me too,' whispers JJ, but her words go unheard.

***

Emily hears the news from Garcia first – that JJ has broken off her long-distance with Will LaMontagne. At first she thinks that it was about the difficulties in keeping the flame going from seven states over, but then Garcia sheds even more light on the situation.

JJ broke it off because there was no spark between them.

And just that JJ admitted that gives Emily some small amount of hope.

'We're going out for drinks tomorrow night,' Garcia mentions. 'You should come.'

Emily freezes. Beyond casework, she's avoided spending time alone with JJ. Sure, they've had drinks together with the team, but this feels decidedly different. Because if Emily knows Penelope Garcia, then the tech analyst will find some excuse to leave the two of them alone. Together.

And that's something Emily Prentiss can't quite deal with yet.

'Garcia…' Emily starts. All she wants to do is go home and open a bottle of wine. Maybe after one or two glasses, she'll get that warm, fuzzy feeling inside, where it's like nothing really matters anymore. She'll lie down, and she'll watch old episodes of Xena, and then everything will feel right with the world. For a little while. 'I can't.'

'Oh, come on Emily. It's just drinks. It's not like I'm asking you to propose to the girl.'

'Please don't make me do this,' Emily says softly. 'It's hard enough being in the same room with her as it is. I don't want to make it even worse.'

'I'm not trying to pair you off,' insists Garcia. 'And quite frankly, I think you need the night out. Real human company, Emily. People on TV screens don't count.'

Emily narrows her eyes slightly.

'Oh, that's right, warrior princess,' says Garcia with a grin on her face. 'I know about your little infatuation with the Battling Bard of Potidaea. And considering your real life infatuation, it doesn't surprise me in the least.'

In spite of it all, Garcia makes her laugh.

'Fine,' she relents. 'But so help me God, Garcia. If you run off and leave me alone with her…' she trails off, the threat evident in her voice.

Their first attempt at drinks is a mixed bag. "Brad, the _real _FBI Agent" lightens the mood, but the subsequent call informing them of a new case is something far less welcome.

'You were having a good time, weren't you?' Garcia nudges Emily while JJ is in the bathroom. They came as a group, and they'll return to Quantico as a group.

Emily shrugs. Things are more comfortable tonight than they have ever been since Emily's attempt at asking JJ out.

'I think JJ enjoyed herself as well. After you get back from Idaho, we should try it again.'

'Just because she enjoyed herself doesn't mean…' The words are caught in her throat. Because deep down, she's still hoping.

Hoping that maybe, she has a chance.

***

JJ catches Morgan before he can head to the parking lot. Their case is a local one, so they'll be taking the SUVs instead of the jet.

'Hey, Morgan.' Morgan turns at the sound of his name.

'Hey JJ. What's up?'

JJ takes a deep breath. She has to play this right, or she'll reveal the secret that she and Emily have both been trying so hard to conceal.

'Is it just me, or has Emily been acting really strange today?'

Morgan relaxes slightly, glad that someone else has noticed. 'Yeah, I've seen it too. Maybe she got dumped or something.' He says it in a light, joking tone, but it still elicits a slightly horrified look from JJ.

'_That can't be it, can it?_' JJ thinks to herself. '_She's always compartmentalized so well before. You can't have broken her that much? Could you?_'

No matter how much JJ tries to convince herself otherwise, she gets the shaking feeling that somehow, Emily's strange behavior is all her fault.

'Let's not jump to conclusions,' JJ says hastily. When it comes to stupid, arbitrary things like phobias, or what she had for breakfast yesterday, JJ can lie like the best of them. She'd even fooled Morgan and Reid once. But when it comes to lying about her love life, she gives the game away, blushing like she's just been caught with her pants down.

'You know something, don't you?'

JJ feigns confusion, but it's already too late. Morgan knows that something's going down, and he's determined to find out what.

***

Emily's got twenty minutes before they leave Quantico. Twenty minutes in which she needs to surreptitiously tell someone that some really bad shit is going down, and that she can't deal with it alone.

The problem is, she has no idea who she can trust.

Before today, she could have answered the question without hesitation. She had trusted every single member of the BAU with her life. With JJ's life. Now, though? While she's unwilling to believe that any of them would even think of trying to ruin her life this way, she has to be sure.

She's at her desk, shielding the sheet of paper with her body. What she's writing is blocked from several angles, but she can't be entirely positive of complete coverage. She just has to hope.

Slipping the piece of paper into a manila folder, she heads for Garcia's office. The technical analyst has supported her through the entire series of dramatic, soap-opera worthy events, and Emily's hoping like hell that she'll be able to help now.

'Hey Garcia,' she says quietly, shutting the door behind her.

'How're you doing?' Garcia asks with a sympathetic voice. For a moment, Emily thinks that she already knows, but then she remembers how she got her heart broken not long ago.

'I'm fine,' she lies. 'I need you to look at a couple of case files for me. Off the record.' She hands Garcia the manila folder, with a look in her eyes that lets Garcia know that she is anything but okay.

Curiosity piqued, Garcia lifts the corner of the folder. There's no case file inside. Just a note. It's in Emily's handwriting, and it reads: "Can you block security cam frequencies?"

'Oh, I know this file,' says Garcia, rolling her chair over to the opposite corner of her desk. There's even more electronic equipment there, none of which Emily can recognize. The tech fiddles with a dial on one of the devices, and seconds later, she's grinning triumphantly at Emily.

'Usually you have to get clearance for that equipment, but…' she trails off, noting that, at the deactivation of any cameras within distance of the jammer, Emily has dropped the façade. There's a panicked look on her face, and her breathing is fast-paced.

'I need your help,' Emily says hurriedly. She recounts the events of her day, watching as Garcia's face goes from perky to horrified in less than a second.

'…if I tell the team anything, he'll kill her, and if I don't do anything, he'll probably kill her anyway. This guy has cameras in my apartment. He has eyes in the Bureau. He's been following me for at least a year and I have no idea who could possibly hate me this much, let alone who would have the opportunity.'

'Calm down,' says Garcia, but this isn't the technical analyst speaking. This is the friend speaking. Emily doesn't just need someone to help her track this guy down, she needs someone to talk her off the edge.

She's trying to regulate her breathing when they hear the phone start to ring.

Emily's heart stops.

Shaking, she pulls the phone from her pocket. Garcia's expression pales. Did they just sign JJ's death warrant?

'Trace it.' Emily's voice is cracked, as if even talking is killing her inside. Had the jam not worked? Had he seen through their act? Either option was possible.

She doesn't speak as she puts the phone to her ear. Garcia's at the keyboard, already working a trace.

'_You were warned,'_ says the voice.

And then he hangs up, leaving Emily more broken than ever before.


	5. Broken

Anathema

_**bro**__**ke**__**n**_**  
**[broʊkən]  
_**–verb**_

_**1. pp. of **__**break.**_

–_**adjective **_

_**2. reduced to fragments; fragmented.**_

_**3. ruptured; torn; fractured.**_

_**4. not functioning properly; out of working order.**_

_**5. Meteorology. (of sky cover) being more than half, but not totally, covered by clouds. Compare **__**scattered**__** (def. 4).**_

_**6. changing direction abruptly: The fox ran in a broken line. **_

_**7. fragmentary or incomplete: a broken ton of coal weighing 1,500 pounds. **_

_**8. infringed or violated: A broken promise is a betrayal of trust. **_

_**9. interrupted, disrupted, or disconnected: After the phone call he returned to his broken sleep. **_

_**10. weakened in strength, spirit, etc.: His broken health was due to alcoholism. **_

_**11. tamed, trained, or reduced to submission: The horse was broken to the saddle. **_

_**12. imperfectly spoken, as language: She still speaks broken English. **_

_**13. spoken in a halting or fragmentary manner, as under emotional strain: He uttered a few broken words of sorrow. **_

_**14. disunited or divided: Divorce results in broken families. **_

_**15. not smooth; rough or irregular: We left the plains and rode through broken country. **_

_**16. ruined; bankrupt: the broken fortunes of his family. **_

_**17. Papermaking, Printing. a quantity of paper of less than 500 or 1000 sheets.**_

Chapter Five

Emily slumps to the floor, breathless.

'He's going to kill her,' she says, voice flat. 'He's going to kill her, and there's nothing I can do about it.'

The trace on the call is inconclusive. He didn't spend nearly long enough on the line for them to triangulate the signal.

For once, Garcia is the one holding them together. 'Emily. We are in one of the most secure buildings in the country. If he wants to get in here, he has to get past at least a hundred trained, armed FBI agents.'

'That didn't stop Battle,' is her dead reply. Garcia freezes. She runs a finger across the fabric of her shirt, stimulating the nerve endings near her scar. The scar that she got when James Colby Baylor shot her in the chest and left her for dead.

'I'll go get the team,' says Garcia quietly.

'No.' Emily's response is lightening fast. 'I don't want to throw JJ under a bus like that. Bring her here first. This isn't just about the photos, this is about…everything.'

Garcia nods. As far as she's aware, she's the only one who knows about the complicated relationship between Emily and JJ. And she's not about to out JJ without warning.

She finds the media liaison talking to Morgan. They suddenly go silent the moment Garcia arrives.

'JJ, can I talk to you for a sec?' Garcia interrupts. She's fairly sure that her information supersedes what they're talking about.

'I have to go sort out my ready bag anyway,' says Morgan, tipping the two a wink. He knows when his presence isn't required.

There is silence between them for several seconds. Then, JJ speaks. 'Look, if this is about Emily, she doesn't want talk. I already tried.'

'Oh,' says Garcia. 'No, never try and talk during the first week, sweetie. Chances are they'll try and throw something at you.' She realizes that what she is saying is not the thing she came to talk about. 'Can we go somewhere a little quieter?'

The technical analyst pulls JJ into the nearest supply closet, stimulating the imagination of several nearby agents, and, she suspects, providing fodder for the rumor mill.

In that moment, Jennifer Jareau's world changes forever.

***

It's almost midnight, and both JJ and Emily are well past tipsy. Garcia's on the dance floor, "jiving it up" with some guy who, as it turns out, is the only decent one in the whole place. As the night progressed, they had both been approached by their fair share of drunks, creeps and straight-up sociopaths. It helps, sometimes, being able to read behavior. It also means your standards are high. That you aren't going to settle for the type of guy that's smashed off his face on cheap vodka. Of course, Emily's not going to settle for any guy. The person she wants is sitting right beside her.

'I don't know how you do it,' slurs Emily. 'All that testosterone.' She hiccups. It's not the kind of thing that she'd bring up if she was sober, and JJ knows it.

'Oh,' begins JJ, somewhat noncommittally. 'They're not so bad. Some of them. Sometimes. I mean, Will was nice enough-' She stops abruptly at the look on Emily's face. It's the look that Emily gets every time JJ brings up the New Orleans Detective. Jealousy.

She can't help herself. She tries so hard to let it go, to get JJ out of her mind, but she can't. It's an obsession that's bordering on addiction. She knows exactly how Reid feels.

JJ changes the subject abruptly. Inebriated though she is, it isn't quite enough for her to admit that she really doesn't know why she does it. That she's confused as hell about why she feels so bad about having turned down Emily in the first place.

It's several more drinks before that happens.

***

JJ isn't sure what to think. Emily sure as hell isn't the type to make up something to get her back, but the timing does seem awfully coincidental.

Then, she sees the look on Emily's face; sees the fear, the pain, the general hopelessness. Then, she knows that it's real.

She knows that they need to call the team in; not to protect her, but to make sure that Emily doesn't end up going crazy with guilt. She knows she can't handle that.

'Get the rest of the team,' JJ says quietly, seeing the look of relief on Emily's face. Garcia leaves quickly, and it's just Emily and JJ.

They're hyperaware of the silence between them. Of the things left unsaid.

'I'm sorry,' says Emily, and JJ knows she's apologizing for what's going on now, not what happened two days ago. 'I can't help but feel that…I could have stopped this, and now I've put your life in danger…'

JJ gives a pained smile. It doesn't feel right to be smiling right now, but she needs to be the strong one, since it's clear that Emily needs some support. 'I much prefer knowing, and having my life in danger than not knowing, and probably having it in danger anyway. This guy doesn't sound like the kind of person who'll let go, just because you're doing what he says.'

JJ's learnt a bit in her time with the BAU.

It seems to cheer Emily up somewhat. She stands, her breathing still measured. She doesn't know if they're being watched. If Garcia's device was successful in disabling any cameras. She's still jumping at even the slightest sound. She hardly knows anything beyond what he has revealed, and quite frankly, it terrifies her.

'I think he's our unsub…' Emily says quickly. 'I mean – the guy that we're supposed to be catching anyway. The message he left, it's similar to something he said to me.'

JJ swallows slightly. This means that he – whoever _he_ is – is actually capable of murder, and isn't just threatening. It makes her anxious – for her own life, yes, but mostly for Emily's. Because this man targeted her for a reason. It isn't the easiest thing, to victimize an FBI agent; it wouldn't be done without good reason.

They both take a deep breath then.

The team is here.

**A/N: Sorry this one is relatively short. **


	6. Devotion

Anathema

**d****e****v****ot****i****on ****  
**[dɪˈvoʊʃən]

–_**noun**_

_**1. profound dedication; consecration.**_

_**2. earnest attachment to a cause, person, etc.**_

_**3. an assignment or appropriation to any purpose, cause, etc.: the devotion of one's wealth and time to scientific advancement. **_

_**4. Often, devotions. Ecclesiastical. religious observance or worship; a form of prayer or worship for special use.**_

**WARNING: Some adult themes in this chapter**

Chapter Six

Rossi, to his credit, is unsurprised. He seems to see everything that goes on in the BAU. Reid is flustered, which doesn't quite surprise anyone. Hotch seems a little disappointed, but it's nothing compared to Morgan's expression. He looks hurt. The look quickly changes to fear, as Garcia explains what is going on. She gives several sideways glances to Emily, who hasn't spoken since the team's arrival in the Bat cave. JJ, if anything, looks confused, as if she's still not quite sure what's going on. No-one knows. Not even Emily.

'I think he's our unsub.' Emily repeats the same words she said to JJ not ten minutes ago. Her voice is a little less flat – it's more fearful now, as if the situation is really sinking in. That JJ could _die_ because of something she did.

The team listens carefully as she explains her reasoning. Hotch nods. If they want to discover who is victimizing their agents, they'll have to work the case at hand.

In some ways, it makes things easier – if his victims are intended to be a representation of JJ, then that puts them ahead on victimology.

But then, the question remains – why JJ? Does the unsub have a connection to her, or to Emily, or is he just playing some sick game for the hell of it? Is this revenge? Fantasy fulfillment? These are the things they're trained to discover, and yet they're well aware of the fact that personal cases are always that little bit different. There's just that little bit of extra motivation to find the unsub – just that little bit more that's at stake if they screw this up.

'He's got cameras inside Quantico,' says Emily. 'And my apartment, and a whole bunch of other places. Garcia tried jamming them, but…' She waves a hand about vaguely.

'He called right after,' Garcia continues softly. 'So we aren't sure if the jam worked. He could be listening right now.' And watching, she doesn't add.

Hotch makes no indication of having heard her; his brow is crumpled. 'Pack your things,' he instructs Garcia. He does not give any indication as to where they are going, but he knows that if the unsub has the resources he appears to, it won't be long before he discovers that they're going to the D.C. Field Office.

***

JJ wakes up in someone else's bed.

Emily's bed.

Even in sleep, their bodies had pressed tightly against each other, bare flesh touching bare flesh.

It's the third time it's happened, and JJ's not entirely sure that she hates it. The first time had been fuelled by alcohol. JJ might have regretted sleeping with someone that was so infatuated with her if she hadn't enjoyed it so much.

Emily's not a selfish lover – JJ can say that much with confidence. The older woman pays more attention to JJ's needs than to her own, and it's something that JJ hasn't experienced with any man. She's not sure if it's a gender thing, or if she's just been sleeping with the wrong kind of guy. She suspects the latter, but that doesn't stop her from enjoying the experience at hand.

She remembers the gratifying sensation of Emily's lips as they made a careful exploration along the skin of her breast. She remembers the contrast between that and the sharpness of Emily's teeth as they clamped around her nipple. She remembers that pleasure/pain dichotomy that almost made her scream. Emily's not a selfish lover, but nor is she a gentle one. JJ thinks it probably has something to do with that compartmentalization thing that Emily is so good at. This is the anger, the frustration that she can't release on the job.

'Hey,' says Emily, having been stirred by JJ's wakening. She's smiling.

JJ can't help herself. She smiles too. 'Hey.'

'We need to be at work in two hours,' says Emily matter-of-factly. That's another side-effect of the compartmentalization – she's not going to let this affect the job.

JJ shifts their position, so that she is lying on top. 'That's plenty of time for me to return the favor,' she says.

***

Emily's sitting in the back seat of the SUV, her head in her hand. She's thinking.

Thinking about all the people she's pissed off over the years. It's a conclusion she had come to earlier – this isn't going to be a short process. When you spend your childhood doing nothing _but _getting into trouble; when you've been in the FBI for twelve years, you're bound to make a few enemies. She'll need a pen and paper for this one.

JJ's in the other SUV, with Hotch and Reid – a fact for which Emily is grateful. She can't quite look JJ in the eyes right now, teamwork aside. She just wants to keep her head down, solve this case, catch the bastard that's doing this, and get on with her life. Without JJ.

That had been JJ's decision though – a decision made when she had broken the relationship off two days ago. Emily admits that it will take her a while to get over the decision, but she's not going to be immature about it. She isn't going to place blame, or force herself to hate JJ.

She's been in enough screwed up relationships – with men _and_ women – to know that if it's not going to work, then you shouldn't push it. If JJ doesn't think it is going to work, then Emily isn't about to pressure her into staying.

All of that will be irrelevant, though, if they can't catch the guy that's out to get them.


	7. Headway

Anathema

**head****wa****y  
**[hɛdˌweɪ]  
_**–noun**_

_**1. forward movement; progress in a forward direction: The ship's headway was slowed by the storm**__**.**_

_**2. progress in general: headway in a career. **_

_**3. rate of progress: a slight headway against concerted opposition. **_

_**4**__**. the time interval or distance between two vehicles, as automobiles, ships, or railroad or subway cars, traveling in the same direction over the same route.**_

–_**Idiom**_

_**5. make headway, to proceed forward; advance; progress.**_

Chapter Seven

They're setting up at the D.C. Field Office. Hotch and JJ are liaising with the SAIC, JJ trying to keep her face free from expression as the Unit Chief explains some of their suspicions. They're not exactly the most professional of circumstances.

The rest of the team is dragging out whiteboards, blu-tacking files and photos in the appropriate columns. There is a distinct lack of anything related to the events of that morning; while it might be relevant, the truth is, they aren't quite sure yet. The case could be an entirely isolated occurrence. That doesn't mean they're going to forget it altogether, though.

Out of the corner of her eye, JJ sees Emily staring at the photos of the previous victims, and she wonders just what is going on inside the profiler's mind. Guilt? Fear? Pain? She seems to have calmed down since Quantico, to the extent that anyone who didn't know her would assume that nothing was wrong – that maybe the woman just has a belligerent personality. That's compartmentalization for you.

Only slightly flushed, JJ returns to the rest of the team, Hotch only steps behind her. Now that their base is established, they're free to engage in those information gathering exercises that accompany every single case; crime scenes, victims' families, morgue, victimology. They'll leave the last task until they have more information on the victims, so for now, they're splitting into three groups.

Reid and Rossi – morgue. Morgan and Emily – crime scenes. Hotch and JJ – victims' families.

Emily opens her mouth to argue, but she is pre-empted by Hotch.

'I'm not going to let JJ die,' he says brusquely, perhaps with a little more distance than he had intended. He can't afford for any of them to become more subjective than they already are.

Blushing only slightly, Emily slinks back, having no more arguments. It's not that she doesn't trust Hotch – her paranoia has already dropped back to within an acceptable range. It's the fact that really, they don't have any idea who this unsub is, how he's watching them, _why_ he's watching them.

Emily knows that until they figure out the answers to those mysteries, she'll have a great weight piled upon her shoulders.

***

'You should have told me earlier,' Hotch says to JJ the moment they're alone in the SUV. It's the words an adult might use to reprimand a child, JJ thinks. "You're not allowed to play with that truck." "You shouldn't have done that – go to your room." "_You should have told me earlier._"

JJ admits, her mind isn't exactly in the right place. She's lost, confused. Part of her wants to tell Hotch to stop the car, so she can get out and go find Emily, just to tell her how sorry she is. To hold her, and kiss her gently, and tell her that everything is going to be alright.

She can't do that.

For one thing, Hotch isn't about to go ahead and let it happen. For another, she's not sure if she can lie to Emily without giving the game away. Because she's not sure everything's going to be alright. Even if they make it out unscathed, what are the chances that they'll ever be able to talk to each other again?

'I know,' is the only response JJ can give.

Telling people makes it real. Garcia doesn't count – she prides herself on omniscience. She knows a lot of things going on in JJ's life that no-one else knows. Her whole life, JJ has been terrified of commitment. She doesn't know if it's a nature thing, or a nurture thing. All she knows is that it's there, and it's ruined more than one relationship in her life. She's never been too broken up about any of them.

Until now.

Maybe it's the fact that she still has to see Emily every day. Still has to see that broken look in those dark eyes. It seems so unnatural.

Maybe that's why she can't stop thinking about it.

***

JJ and Emily have been, for lack of a better word, dating, for exactly one month. With cases, and paperwork, and just plain recovery, though, actual dates have been few and far between. The best they've managed is lying on Emily's couch eating ice-cream as they watch re-runs of _Xena: Warrior Princess._

Back on the job, it's a whole different ballgame.

Not even clandestine glances, and warm smiles are enough to slip past the watchful eye of their colleagues. On the job, they're as they always have been. It's the same, and yet it's different. They are more wary of each other's presence, of each other's safety.

They've had it drilled into them a hundred times, at least. Don't fraternize with other agents. Emily had listened vaguely at the first seminar, and rolled her eyes by the time the fiftieth came about. She knows. She knows that she's not supposed to be doing this. That she's not supposed to be falling in love with someone she works with. And, damnit, she knows that she was brought up better than this.

But it's not about the mind anymore. It's about the heart.

And right now, Emily Prentiss knows without a doubt where her heart lies.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

***

'How long?' Morgan asks. His words have some kind of accusatory tone; "How long have you been keeping this from me?" Emily is silent at first.

'A year,' she says eventually. 'A little more.' She bites her lip. It has never been her intention to hurt anyone. She had not even considered the fact that he might be hurt by her lie of omission. She's not sure how she can make this one up. A little part of her thinks that she might be losing more than one person thanks to this screwed up situation.

Those are the only words spoken on the way to the crime scene. She has a strange, twisted pain in her stomach, as though her body just knows that something terrible is going to happen. She tries to block it out, to ignore it, but to no avail.

Her phone starts ringing the moment they step out of the SUV. Frowning, she pulls it from her pocket.

Number Withheld.

Shit.

'Hello.' She answers the phone cautiously, giving Morgan a pointed look. "Call Garcia," she mouths.

'_Tell me, Emily, what do you think I should do with her body? Should I put it in a public place, so that everyone can see the humiliation I put her through before death, or should I put it in a dumpster, like the trash that she is?_' She feels the anger rise in her throat. Her fist is clenched. '_Of course, the first three I dumped in parks. It's a very beautiful park, isn't it?_'

She knows what he's saying: "I'm watching you." Morgan gives her a slight nod, indicating that Garcia has her programs up and running. Hopefully they'll get a trace, and failing that, everything this dirtbag says will get recorded.

She just has to stay on the line without breaking down.

Right now, that's a hard act to sell.


	8. Threat

Anathema

**t****hreat  
**[θrɛt]**  
**_**–noun**_

_**1. a declaration of an intention or determination to inflict punishment, injury, etc., in retaliation for, or conditionally upon, some action or course; menace: He confessed under the threat of imprisonment. **_

_**2. an indication or warning of probable trouble: The threat of a storm was in the air. **_

_**3. a person or thing that threatens.**_

–_**verb (used with object), verb (used without object) **_

_**4. Archaic. **__**to threaten.**_

Chapter Eight

'_They're tracking the call right now, Emily. Do you think they'll find me?_'

The words sting her heart. It means that he's taken precautions against this. They'd surmised that he was a technical genius. As good as Garcia? She isn't quite sure. At the very least, he _thinks_ he's better than Garcia, and that's something she can work with. Because she's been running down that list of names in her head, and she's come to a conclusion. This isn't professional. It's personal. Someone who she dated, or who wanted to date her – it's the only reason he – or she – would be focusing so much on JJ.

Jealousy.

Put all those elements together – tech genius, arrogant, romantic interest – and she comes up with one name.

It's with great care that she responds, not wanting to get him – and it is a him – any angrier. She knows how angry he can get. It's half the reason she broke it off with him in the first place. It's been six years. It feels like a lifetime.

'You know you're always one step ahead of everyone, Alex.'

Morgan stares at her, dumbfounded. He has questions, of that she has no doubt. They'll have to wait for another time. Right now, she has to keep this guy on the line long enough for Garcia to track him down.

'_So you figured it out. Very good. But don't think it will be enough to save her, Emily.'_

'This level of sophistication…it could only have been you.' And she's only half embellishing, because she does admit, the guy is pretty intelligent. One of the things that drew her to him.

'_And yet you dumped me in the mud, so you could go bat for the other team. Do you know how angry that makes me feel?_'

It's working. She's drawing more out of him. Trying to get enough information to profile him, to find out his next move.

Somewhere, deep down, she doesn't think it will be enough.

***

Garcia puts all her efforts into getting the trace done as quickly as possible. It's not just that there are lives on the line. It's everyone's sanity on the line as well. Because if this unsub succeeds in killing JJ, in taking revenge against Emily, then there's no way they're all going to bounce back from that.

It's so much more than the job when family is involved. They'll do everything they can to make this right, even if it means sleepless nights, calling in for Chinese at three o'clock in the morning.

She's trying to block out the content of the conversation. Block out the computer manipulated voice that somehow still manages to sound so smug. Block out Emily's carefully measure responses, her voice teetering on the edge.

Part of her, though, is curious. Emily rarely talks about her past relationships, save to say that there have been some bad ones. If one of her exes is going around killing people, then that's probably an underestimation.

He hangs up before she can triangulate the call. She's put him within a fifty mile radius of the D.C field office, which doesn't really tell them much at all, except that he might have followed the team. Either that, or he had been operating out of D.C. in the first place. Either is a viable option.

Five minutes later, Garcia finds herself running down a name. Alexander Collins. Former FBI Technical Analyst out of Chicago. According to Emily, they dated for a little over two months in 2003. Relationship ended after Collins was fired from the Bureau due to his "anger issues." The lacking description does not quench Garcia's thirst for gossip.

'Since 2003, this guy has been running a software development business. Pretty neat stuff, I have to admit. He lives in D.C. Forwarding you the address now.'

***

'It can't be this easy,' says Emily bluntly. She's staring at the address, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He is _way_ too smart to have it end this way.'

'Trap?' wonders Morgan aloud.

'Maybe. Maybe he's not even there. Either way, we're going to have to be extra careful.' She catches his glance, knowing he's about to tell her that there is no way Hotch is going to let her go on the raid. 'I know,' she sighs, before he can even say anything. 'But that's no reason not to be careful.' She knows he isn't about to disagree with her on that front. After all, so much damage has been done already.

She wonders if her past is going to keep popping up like this. Is going to continually serve to destroy the relationships that she's spent the last three years building up. One relationship in particular. Of, course, providing she hasn't already broken that one beyond repair.

She slides into the passenger's seat next to Morgan. This is it.

'Hey,' he says, in that "older brother" voice he seems to have perfected, which amuses her sometimes, considering the fact that he's two years younger than her. 'It's going to be all right. We'll get this guy.'

'Yeah,' she says. 'I sure hope so.'

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait.**


	9. Gone

Anathema

**g****one  
**[gɔn, gɒn] **  
**_**–verb**_

_**1. pp. of go .**_

–_**adjective **_

_**2. departed; left.**_

_**3. lost or hopeless.**_

_**4. ruined. **_

_**5. that has passed away; dead.**_

_**6. past **_

_**7. weak and faint: a gone feeling. **_

_**8. used up.**_

Chapter Nine

It's early when JJ wakes up, and she briefly panics before she realizes that she's in her own bed. Alone.

She's not even sure why it terrifies her so much. She's been _seeing_ Emily in one way for another for over a year now. She thinks she should be used to the idea of a committed relationship by now.

It's always been like this. The moment it gets too real, she starts looking for a way out. To be quite honest, this is probably the longest relationship she's ever really been in, and even then, she's not quite sure that most of what they've been doing can really count as a relationship. With all the time they spend at the office, it hasn't really gone beyond what could be described as a casual fling. There's plenty of sex – and it's good sex, she's willing to admit – but none of those things that usually accompany a long term relationship. That's her own fault, JJ knows. Emily's been pushing for something a little more concrete for months now.

She can't do this.

She's afraid.

***

Hotch hangs up his cell phone, and JJ's sure that if the expression of inquisitiveness on her face was any clearer, she'd be screaming her questions at the Unit Chief.

'Emily gave us a name,' he says shortly, and JJ interprets his tone of voice almost immediately, in spite of her lack of profiling training. He's upset; both at her and Emily, for keeping this from him, and at the unsub. 'Alexander Collins, a former FBI technical analyst.' He pauses. 'Evidently he and Emily were…involved at some point.' There's something Hotch isn't mentioning though, and JJ presses him.

'Tell me what's going on, Hotch.'

'…He initiated contact again. There were some threats made.' On both sides, JJ thinks. It's not very pretty when Emily gets angry.

'We have an address?' she chokes out, not really wanting to know exactly what threats had been issued. She's concerned for her safety, but it's really not something she wants to start thinking about.

'Yes,' he says. 'But you know I can't let you go on the raid.'

He doesn't elaborate, but JJ knows the reason. If this unsub gets a chance, he'll take her out. But then, she isn't the real target of his anger.

'You told Emily the same thing, didn't you, Hotch?' She can't quite help but let the fear that's consuming her soak her words. She's terrified that Emily might do something rash in her anger, or that the unsub will hurt her, or that any number of horrific things might happen.

'I told her,' he says, 'But I'm not entirely sure she wants to listen.'

JJ feels a brief swell of emotion. It's something that just seems so Emily. She's willing to put her job, even her life on the line to do an insanely stupid thing. The same thing had happened after Matthew Benton's death.

She pulls her own phone out. Hotch, to his credit, doesn't say anything.

Emily picks up almost immediately. _'JJ?' _There's fear in her voice, as though she had almost expected it to be someone else, regardless of what Caller ID said.

'Hey, Emily.' JJ's speaking softly, but still trying to let her determination show. 'Please listen to Hotch. He's trying to protect you.'

'_I don't need protection,'_ Emily replies harshly, before adding - with some regret in her voice, _'JJ, this guy wants to kill you. I can't let that happen. Besides, we don't even know if he's going to be there.'_

'And I can't let him kill you,' she blurts out, and both Emily and Hotch, whose eyes are directed on the road ahead, know what she's trying to say.

_I can't lose you._

***

Emily hangs up, and there's a distant look in her eyes.

'Well?' asks Morgan. They're not far from Collins' home address. He needs to know now what decision she's made. Reid and Rossi are meeting them at the house, so it isn't as though he'll be without backup.

'Drop me off here,' she says, gesturing towards the gas station that's a few hundred feet ahead of them. It's the kind of place where she can be sure she isn't going to get jumped, should Collins decide to go after her.

Even with her profiling experience, she's not quite sure what to expect of him. He could – can – be a bit unpredictable.

'Good luck,' she tells him, sliding out of the SUV. 'And please, Morgan…Be careful.'

She's not surprised at all when he adds, 'You too.'

***

She's holding her breath, and not even realizing it. She's not so sure she wants to do this, but she knows that she has to. It's either this, or run the risk or run the risk of a complete mental breakdown. She can't – won't – expose Emily to that.

Her knuckles rap on the apartment door, body a few seconds ahead of her mind. Too late to go back now. This is it.

Emily's face lights up when she opens the door, and then takes a startling leap to crestfallen when she sees the look on JJ's face. JJ's heart beats a little faster, and part of her wants to just take Emily into her arms and hold her.

'What's wrong?' Her voice warbles slightly, as though she's expecting what's about to come.

'I…Can I come in? We need to talk.'

There's a moment of deadly silence. Neither of them move, or even speak.

'I can't do this anymore,' JJ manages to get out finally, and there's no confusion as to what "this" is.

At first, Emily says nothing, but she looks as though someone has just told her that Santa Claus isn't real. JJ doesn't exactly want to have this conversation out in the hallway, but Emily shows no signs of stepping back. In fact, if anything, she looks as though she's ready to slam the door.

'Okay,' Emily says, and JJ waits for some form of addendum, but that's it. No "why?" or "are you serious?"; just "okay." It's not until later that she realizes that Emily had been focusing on keeping all the negative emotion locked away; words seem some kind of secondary consideration.

'I…' Emily chokes slightly, and JJ's fairly sure she can see a tear. Her heart wrenches, and for a moment she wonders if she's made the biggest mistake of her entire life. 'I hope you find what you're looking for.' She's staring pointedly at JJ; a cue to leave, JJ realizes.

She walks off silently, hearing the click of the door behind her, and only then does she let her own tears start to fall.

***

'Did you want to talk about it?' asks Hotch, and JJ's surprised for a moment, because Hotch isn't usually the kind to ask about personal problems. But he cares for the team; that much is evident. Even still, he's not exactly top of the list for people she'd choose to talk to about this kind of thing.

'I-' she starts, but stops abruptly when the SUV starts to swerve. A white pickup had cut sharply across in front of them, and Hotch is turning the wheel in an attempt to regain control. They've all had training in defensive driving techniques, but in the heat of the moment, it doesn't always go the way you want it to.

The car rolls unexpectedly, and JJ's holding her breath, feeling every jolt as metal strikes asphalt. When it finally stops moving, she's surprised to find that she's still conscious, even more surprised to find that she's still alive. There's a sharp pain in her arm, though, and she's finding it difficult to move. In the driver's seat, Hotch is unconscious, and she tries to work her way out of the seatbelt to see if he's still alive. By some miracle, the vehicle had rolled back upright, which means she doesn't have to worry about the blood rushing to her head.

Too busy checking on Hotch, she doesn't notice the car door being wrenched open. She gasps as she's pulled out of the car, limbs screaming at the sudden movement.

He's tall, with dark hair, and a strong jaw. She can see why Emily might have been attracted to him in the first place. His cold blue eyes are the last thing she sees before she loses consciousness.


	10. Fear

**Title: **Anathema**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Fandom: **Criminal Minds**  
Characters/Pairing: **Emily/JJ**  
Genre: **Romance/Drama**  
Summary: **Some relationships don't take the conventional path. When an unsub threatens JJ's life, Emily pulls out all the stops to protect her, even if it means sacrificing her own life.

Anathema

**fear  
**[fɪər]**  
**_**–noun**_

_**1. a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.**_

_**2. a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling: an abnormal fear of heights. **_

_**3. concern or anxiety; solicitude: a fear for someone's safety. **_

_**4. reverential awe, esp. toward God.**_

_**5. that which causes a feeling of being afraid; that of which a person is afraid: Cancer is a common fear. **_

Chapter Ten

She wakes up with a throbbing headache.

The last thing she remembers is the screeching wrench of metal, the screams that echoed in her mind, even though she's entirely positive of the fact that she had not made a sound. The only other person in the car had been Hotch, and he screams about as often as Garcia takes a .45 down to the shooting range. About as often as Morgan wears a skirt to work.

Hotch isn't there with her, of that much she's sure. The Unit Chief isn't the object of this man's desires, and neither is she, really. She's just a way for him to achieve his desires. She hopes like hell that Hotch had made it out of the car alive, but she can't dwell on that for very long. She has other concerns.

Her hands are tied to a chair – a little tightly, but the knots aren't very professional. After all the slow days when Reid takes it upon himself to teach the rest of them Presdigitation and Escapism, she thinks, given some time alone, she could probably get out of them eventually. Time alone doesn't look like it'll come at any point soon, though. Through a barely cracked eyelid, she can see the man watching her.

Though she's as still as possible, he still sees that she's awake, and his lips widen into a smile. 'I can see why she likes you,' he says, in a lecherous tone. 'You're so much more...vivid in person.' He watches her reaction, and she tries her hardest not to let the fear show on her face. His head cocks slightly to the side. 'It almost seems a pity to kill you.'

There's a long pause, during which all she can hear is her own labored breathing. 'Not yet, of course,' he adds. 'Not until everybody's here.'

She can feel her heart thump a little louder at that revelation. There's only one word on her lips. One name. Emily.

She closes her eyes again, blinking back the pain that shoots through her torso and wonders – is there any way she could have possibly made this worse.

***

_It's a lazy Sunday afternoon when Emily uses the "L" word for the first time. Lazy Sunday afternoons are a rare occurrence, and they're taking full advantage of it. She's curled up against Emily's chest, hair touching bare skin._

_They're both out of breath – still recovering from what had started as an impromptu tickling match. The last case had hit them hard, and JJ had taken it upon herself to lighten the mood._

''_love you,' Emily says breathlessly, which brings everything crashing back down again. JJ takes a couple of seconds to determine if what she'd heard had actually been what Emily had said._

_There's a look of something approaching adoration on Emily's face – JJ doesn't need to have taken the profiling lessons to know that she'd heard exactly what she'd thought._

_Emily's expression suddenly twists into one of horror. 'I'm sorry, Jayj. I didn't mean...'_ To say that out loud. _JJ finishes the sentence in her mind, the words echoing._

_Love._

_She hadn't gone into this relationship expecting love, but she knows that if _Emily, _of all people, is professing her feelings – even accidentally – then they must run pretty deep._

_The thought terrifies her. She's, admittedly, one of the more well-balanced members of the team in terms of personal demons, but that doesn't change the fact that she's a major commitment-phobe. Emily had been too, but evidently that's changed some time in the last twelve months. From that look of horror, she's pretty sure that the brunette hadn't planned on letting the words slip out any time soon._

_It doesn't change the fact that the words are out there now. It's real – what they have is real – and for JJ, reality has always been that breaking point._

_She feels herself pulling away – physically _and _emotionally, even though she's not entirely sure she wants to. She wonders if it would be different if Emily weren't her female co-worker. If Emily had been just another man that had taken her out, and shown her a good time. She's not, though, which is the problem at hand._

'_I'm sorry.' She lets her arms cross against her bare chest as she slides out of the bed. It's an embarrassing five minutes as she searches for the clothes that had been scattered across the floor of Emily's bedroom. The other woman still hasn't said anything yet, though horror has given way to shock._

'_JJ...' she says eventually._

_JJ stands, fully dressed, and vaguely aware that the buttons of her blouse are misaligned._

'_I...I'm sorry,' she repeats, in lieu of anything else. 'I don't...I can't...' She struggles, and hates herself for doing so. She's a _Communications Liaison_. She's always supposed to have the right words to say the right thing, to stop the situation from escalating. All of her experience had never prepared her for this. 'I need...space,' she settles on, finally, aware that maybe when she says "space," what she really means is time._

_Emily nods, though it's painfully evident that she is _not _okay with what's going on. JJ doesn't blame her._

_Maybe things will be a little easier if Emily hates her for it._


	11. Determined

**Title: **Anathema**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Fandom: **Criminal Minds**  
Characters/Pairing: **Emily/JJ**  
Genre: **Romance/Drama**  
Summary: **Some relationships don't take the conventional path. When an unsub threatens JJ's life, Emily pulls out all the stops to protect her, even if it means sacrificing her own life.  
**Author's Note: **Noticed a couple of inconsistencies with the last couple of chapters – will edit when I can be bothered to.

Anathema

**determined  
**[dɪˈtɜrmɪnd]**  
**_**–adjective**_

_**1. resolute; staunch: the determined defenders of the Alamo. **_

_**2. decided; settled; resolved.**_

_**3. Grammar. (of a phonetic feature) predictable from its surrounding context.**_

Chapter Eleven

She walks.

She feels like running – to block out the fear, the anger, the hurt – but for one thing, she's wearing heels and a pantsuit, and she really,_ really_ needs to keep her mind in the game. She needs to work this out, because she knows that she's the only one that can.

The rest of the team, they have their profile, and the corresponding unsub, but she's the one that has the personal history; the memories, the interactions. Everything she needs to know what he's going to do next. And every single part of her is screaming that it's going to end badly. She needs to end this before it gets out of hand.

She needs to find him and take care of him. It could mean the end of her life, could mean the end of her career, could mean the end of any chance she has at rekindling a relationship with JJ, but in the end, none of that matters. In the end, it's about making sure that no-one else gets hurt. Making sure that JJ doesn't get hurt. She'll give up everything to keep JJ safe, even if it means never seeing the other woman again. It'll hurt like hell, but it's something she needs to do.

Her phone rings, and her fingers feel a little numb as she pulls it out of her pocket. She stares at the screen blankly for a few seconds – the Caller ID says that it's JJ. She'd called less than half an hour before, asking Emily to listen to Hotch. She'd listened, but not for the reasons that they'd wanted her to. She wonders if JJ's at the scene now – an empty house. He's not there, but that's something everyone had already known.

'Hey, JJ,' she answers, and there's a question in her words. What that question is though, she's not really so sure.

'_She really is quite beautiful, Emily,_' the voice says – a familiar voice, but not JJ's voice. Her heart goes cold. _No, please God no. Please don't let this be happening. _'_Tell me, Emily. Have you ever heard her scream?_' There's a small sound, as though he's putting the phone down to pick something else up, and in those few moments, Emily's gripping her cell so tightly, she thinks that the thing might crack.

Then she hears the scream.

* * *

_She's numb._

_It doesn't seem real. It never seems real at first. She's been dumped before, of course – in high school, in college, by men, by women. She'd thought herself doomed to eternal loneliness until she'd met JJ. Those few months of happiness had been some of the best in her life. Now she feels...empty._

_She goes into work early – _really_ early. The sun hasn't even risen. She thinks that maybe, just maybe, if she keeps her mind on the job, her nose to the grindstone, she won't have to think about it._

_Of course, seeing JJ won't help at all. Seeing that golden blond hair, those bright blue eyes, that smile. If they don't have a case, she can justify keeping her head down all day, but if they do...well...Hotch rarely pairs her with JJ anyway, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem._

_She runs into Garcia on her way to the bullpen, swearing internally at the sight of the technical analyst. She loves Garcia like a sister, she really does. But she really doesn't want to be near someone so actively involved with her personal life right now – it would mean admitting what had happened – admitting to herself as well as Garcia. That's what makes it real._

_She's not so sure she wants it to be real._

_She's not an idealist by any sense of the word, but part of her is hoping that she can at least talk to JJ – make sure that this is really what the other woman wants, because right now, Emily's not convinced that JJ had been giving her the whole truth._

'_Sweetie, what's wrong?' _Damnit. _She really can't get anything past Garcia. The woman really is omniscient._

'_It's nothing,' she says, trying to brush past with a smile. Garcia is not buying it._

'_Emily,' she says, gently, and yet firmly at the same time. 'Tell me what's going on.'_

'_I...Jennifer...JJ broke up with me,' she reveals, unable to hide the look of devastation that's on her face. The hallway's otherwise empty, but she still can't help but feel like sinking into the carpet. Garcia seems to sense this, and takes her by the arm._

'_Come on.'_

_The batcave is a little more intimate, but it's still almost a full minute before she realizes that there are tears forming at the edge of her eyes._

'_Tell me,' Garcia says, her hand now resting gently atop Emily's. It's comforting._

'_I...I don't know,' she admits. 'I thought it was going well.' _I told her I loved her_, are the words she doesn't say. Part of her already knows the reason why._

* * *

It's JJ's scream – there's no doubt about that. It hurts. It hurts so god damned much. No matter what she does now, she knows she's already lost, in one way or another. JJ is never going to forgive her after this.

'What do you want, you bastard?' she seethes, putting all her energy into the anger. If all she has is the anger, then he won't hear the fear.

'_You know what I want, Emily. It's what I've always wanted._'

You.

She hangs up, out of shock, more than anything else. She starts dialling JJ's number, but then reconsiders. By calling him, she's playing into his game. She calls Morgan instead, shaking.

'_Emily?_' There's something in his voice that tells her he already knows.

'He's got her,' she says numbly. Telling him makes it real, even if he already knows. Hotch had been with JJ, she remembers. 'Hotch, is he...?'

'_He got knocked around a bit, but he'll be fine. Emily, listen to me-_'

She hangs up again. She doesn't need to hear it. She can't hear it. Already, she knows what he's going to tell her. "Come back in, we'll do this together."

She can't do that.

Her phone buzzes again – this time it's a text message, rather than a phone call.

An address.

There's an addendum.

"Come alone, or she dies."

The words tell her so much.


	12. Revenge

**Title: **Anathema**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Fandom: **Criminal Minds**  
Characters/Pairing: **Emily/JJ**  
Genre: **Romance/Drama**  
Summary: **Some relationships don't take the conventional path. When an unsub threatens JJ's life, Emily pulls out all the stops to protect her, even if it means sacrificing her own life.

**revenge  
**[rɪˈvɛndʒ]**  
**_**–verb (used with object)**_

_** exact punishment or expiation for a wrong on behalf of, esp. in a resentful or vindictive spirit: He revenged his murdered brother. **_

_** take vengeance for; inflict punishment for; avenge: He revenged his brother's murder. **_

–_**verb (used without object) **_

_** take revenge.**_

–_**noun **_

_** act of revenging; retaliation for injuries or wrongs; vengeance.**_

_** done in vengeance.**_

_** desire to revenge; vindictiveness.**_

_** opportunity to retaliate or gain satisfaction.**_

Chapter Twelve

Morgan stares at the phone in disbelief.

Emily had hung up on him.

This is bad.

He doesn't need to be told how this is going to go down – Emily's going to walk straight into their unsub's trap. He shakes himself back into reality and puts a call through to Garcia.

'Baby girl, I need you to trace Emily's cell,' he says, hoping like hell that the phone hasn't been turned off. He'll try and put a call through once he's finished talking to Garcia, but he's not entirely sure that it will be answered.

He's not sure if they can give Emily the help that she needs right now. Whatever that help is – backup, reassurance, company – he isn't entirely sure yet.

'Anything?' Hotch asks, and Morgan admits that the Unit Chief looks like hell. The crash had given him a moderate concussion and a multitude of cuts and bruises. There are stitches along his cheek and across his forehead. In true Hotch spirit, he's just signed himself out of hospital, against medical advice. Morgan isn't going to argue – he knows that if he'd been the one injured, he'd be wanting to do exactly the same thing.

Too much is on the line.

'Emily knows,' he tells Hotch shortly. 'I think she's going to confront him. Garcia's tracing the line, but...' He lets an uncharacteristic silence speak his words for him. He's not entirely sure that today is going to have a happy ending.

'Have her check the call and text records as well,' Hotch orders. 'We know that he's going to contact her. If we can intercept the message, we might be able to find out where he's keeping JJ.'

Morgan opens his phone once more.

* * *

She hands the cab driver a fifty, telling him to keep the change. It's not particularly cold out, but she hugs her shoulders anyway, because if she's going to be completely honest with herself, she's completely and utterly terrified right now. She doesn't know if JJ's alive or dead, doesn't know if she's about to make the biggest mistake of her life by walking the couple of miles or so down the road to this house.

It's a little way out of town, far away enough from other houses that any screams could go unheard. Her stomach roils at that thought – without the address he'd given her, she could have gone days without knowing just where JJ is. It's not an experience she's particularly interested in undergoing.

She checks the weapon at her hip, making sure that it's fully loaded, and that there's nothing blocking the trigger mechanism. She repeats the process for the gun at her ankle. Both seem to be working fine – and that's all she needs. Time enough to kill this bastard before he can do any more damage. Save JJ. Anything else – things like her own survival – that's a secondary consideration.

She's a little sweaty by the time she makes it to the house, her heart beating erratically, epinephrine pumping out like she's facing down a dragon, and in some ways, she thinks she kind of is. Any unexpected sound would make her jump out of her skin, so it's a good thing that her phone is lying on the side of the road where she'd tossed it after getting out of the cab. It's enough for the team to narrow down the location without arousing _his_ suspicion.

She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

'Gun,' she hears eventually as the door opens a couple of inches – the same voice that she remembers from so long ago, only now it seems so much darker. 'Give it to me, or she dies before we even get started.' Emily has no way of assessing the situation from outside – he could have some kind of dead man's switch rigged up, so shooting him through the door isn't going to be an option.

She has to go inside.

She slips her sidearm out of its holster, and passes it through the small gap. There's the shuffling sound of the firearm being dealt with, so she takes the opportunity to push at the door slightly – the security chain is locked. She can't take him by surprise with her back-up.

'And the other one,' he says eventually, and she bites her lip, hesitating. 'Come on, Emily, I know you're packing the extra heat today. Pass it through, or your pretty blond "friend" is going to end up with a bullet in the chest. Slow enough that you can watch her die.'

She bends down, a little reluctantly, and takes out the smaller Glock.

It's all down to her now, but then, maybe it always had been.


	13. End Game

**Title: **Anathema**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Fandom: **Criminal Minds**  
Characters/Pairing: **Emily/JJ**  
Genre: **Romance/Drama**  
Summary: **Some relationships don't take the conventional path. When an unsub threatens JJ's life, Emily pulls out all the stops to protect her, even if it means sacrificing her own life.

**end game  
**_**–noun**_

_**1. Chess. the final stage of a game, usually following the exchange of queens and the serious reduction of forces.**_

_**2. the late or final stages of any activity: the end game of the negotiations. **_

Chapter Thirteen

They have an address.

Emily's at least twenty minutes ahead of them, and they have no idea what condition JJ's in, but they have an address, and one way or another, this is going to end today. Hotch isn't sure he could stand if this case went on any longer.

His whole body aches, and the stitches on his forehead and his abdomen are throbbing, but he ignores them entirely as he straps on his vest and checks both of his weapons. Both are fully loaded, and he's hoping like hell that he won't end up firing a shot out of anger. He's not ready to accept the possibility that Emily and JJ could both be dead. He's not ready to accept the fact that no matter what happens, the team dynamics will have changed after today, even though it's definitely the case.

There's no going back.

'Are we ready?' he asks Morgan, who hasn't yet made a single comment about the Unit Chief's state of field readiness. They both have the same state of determination. They'll do whatever it takes to get their colleagues – their _friends_ – back alive.

Survival isn't the only issue, though. He's seen Emily when she's angry – when she's _really_ angry – and it's not a pretty sight. Any anger from times past will be nothing compared to what she feels towards this unsub. He won't let an agent fall into darkness.

Not again.

* * *

She lets out a deep breath as he shuts the door behind her. It's dark inside, but she can see his face with perfect clarity. It's still the same chiselled jaw, same neat haircut, same piercing eyes, but now, she sees him in a different light.

He's not just an ex anymore. Now he's a psychotic killer.

How many people are dead because of her? She feels sick thinking about it. She feels sick thinking that she'd let JJ be taken by this sick son-of-a-bitch. She feels sick thinking that somehow, she could have stopped it all from happening.

'It's been so long,' he says, his voice breathy, and she tries not to vomit as his hand brushes against her cheek.

'Where is she?' Emily asks, and she feels his hand go rigid. JJ isn't part of his fantasy. The moment's over.

He moves so that he's behind her, and she finds herself being pushed forward, gun pressed into the small of her back. She thinks she could take him, but she doesn't want to run the risk of JJ getting caught in the crossfire. In any case, before she does anything, she needs to see that JJ is alright, or at the very least, that she's alive.

It's a relief, and yet, it's the most horrifying, most terrifying thing she's ever seen, when she steps into the room and sees JJ – Jennifer – tied to that chair. Her eyes are closed, and her head lolls against her shoulder, and there's a thin stream of blood flowing from her forehead, catching a few strands of straw-blond hair on its way down, but there's a slow rise and fall of the chest that indicates there's still life left. Emily feels her own breath catch in her throat, and for a moment, she can't think, can't move.

Before she can so much as start towards the other woman, there's a hand on her wrist, turning her around roughly. The gun still in his hand, he strokes her face again, and this time, she can't even really see the man that used to be behind those eyes. 'I loved you, Emily,' he says, and she can feel the pain in his voice – he's broken. He's lost his mind. At the same time, though, she understands why more intimately than she ever has before.

'I know,' she breathes, letting her eyes dart quickly towards JJ before jumping back to Alex. 'But sometimes...loving someone means knowing when to let go.' There's a long pause. 'I-You need to let go.'

She's not just talking to him right now, she's talking to herself. Because whatever way this goes down, she's pretty sure that she's lost JJ forever. In that way, she understands why he's doing it, but that's a long way from condoning it.

'It's not her who you need to see in pain, is it?' she starts, trying to draw him in. 'She's not the one that needs to suffer.'

'No,' he says, and she represses a shiver at the smile that creeps onto her face. 'As much fun as it was to see you – to hear you – squirm at the thought of her in danger, it's not her screams I need to hear.'

Emily bites her lip.

That's the profile for you.

She wants nothing more than to go over there and to hold JJ in her arms, and tell her that everything will be okay, and it will be a mantra that she'll be trying to convince herself of as well, because things are really not okay. Even before today, even before this, things hadn't been okay. There's a near canyon between them, that Emily doesn't know how to fix, because not matter how much she tells herself to let go, it's so fucking hard to just stop loving someone.

'I'm sorry,' she whispers under her breath, and even if JJ had been conscious, she probably wouldn't have been able to hear it.

'You should be sorry,' he seethes, and his fingers grasp her hair, pulling her head back. 'You should be sorry for ripping my heart from my chest.' He drags her away from the room, away from JJ, because for him, it hadn't really been about JJ, but at the same time, everything had been about JJ. Emily's just hoping like hell that she might be able to distract him for long enough that the team might be able to find them.

He takes her outside, onto grass that's been recently mown. 'Do you remember our picnic, Emily?' She looks down, and sees the blanket and the basket and the paper plates with plastic knives and forks. He'd planned for this. The first stage in some kind of twisted journey. 'The ants got into our sandwiches, so you had to go across the street to _Wendy's_. Do you remember that?'

She does remember that, but it had been another time, and they had both been entirely different people. Certainly, she would have had second thoughts about going out on a date if he'd been a serial killer back then.

He straightens the blanket for her, and waits til she's seated before lowering himself down, and she's intrigued by the dichotomy. He seems torn between rekindling their old relationship, and destroying her, and she's not entirely sure which she's more afraid to see. This remembrance of things past is torture in its own way. For Emily Prentiss, the past holds nothing but bitterness.

But no.

Because JJ's in the past.

She's in the present, Emily keeps reminding herself. Still alive, still breathing. And she'll be in the future – she'll make it out, even if Emily doesn't. But there's the past as well. There're the good times, that not even the greatest amount of distance can take away.

He sets the gun down and pulls the picnic basket towards himself, almost daring her to make a move.

She doesn't disappoint.

She's no slouch in the field, but he'd been expecting it, and he tops her when it comes to upper body strength. There's a brief struggle, at the culmination of which she finds herself pinned beneath him, his knees pressed either side of her.

'Oh, Emily.' He grins, and the gun trails the curve of her hip and across her waistband, teasing her navel. 'You always were so stubborn about this kind of thing.' She doesn't need to be a profiler to know where this is going, and she's damn well not going to let it happen. Let the bullet kill her dead. Let him beat her to death with the butt of the gun. Anything but what he's got planned. Part of her is almost welcoming of death.

Taking advantage of his hardening distraction, she uses every ounce of strength to lever herself into something of a tackle. Her hands clamber at his, trying to pull the gun away. It's not exactly textbook self-defence, but she works with what she's got.

There's one gunshot, then another, and she feels the stinging pain at her abdomen the same time she feels the dead weight falling atop her.

She looks upwards at the sky – such a beautiful sky – and feels the grass tickling against her skin. It's almost peaceful. Her eyes close, and she can hear someone calling her name, but after a second, she realizes that it's probably just her imagination.


	14. Anathema

**Title: **Anathema**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Fandom: **Criminal Minds**  
Characters/Pairing: **Emily/JJ**  
Genre: **Romance/Drama**  
Summary: **Some relationships don't take the conventional path. When an unsub threatens JJ's life, Emily pulls out all the stops to protect her, even if it means sacrificing her own life.

**anathema  
****[əˈnæθ****ə****mə]****  
****–noun, plural -mas.**

_**1. a person or thing detested or loathed: That subject is anathema to him. **_

_**2. a person or thing accursed or consigned to damnation or destruction.**_

_**3. a formal ecclesiastical curse involving excommunication.**_

_**4. any imprecation of divine punishment.**_

_**5. a curse; execration.**_

Chapter Fourteen

She puts her fingers to her side, and they come away stained crimson. It's at that point she realizes something that has been haunting the back of her mind for a long time now.

She's doomed to be alone.

As though there's some kind of curse, that someone had put upon her – cursed with unhappiness.

Anathema.

It seems almost a relief then, that she's not destined for this world. It's sinking away, darkness and light grappling for dominance at the edge of her consciousness. Dark edges. White spots. She lets her head falls sideways, seeing the man in his blood-stained shirt. She thinks she should remember who he is, but that memory is slipping away.

It's all slipping away.

But no.

She's holding on. She isn't sure why. There's still something she needs to do. Someone she needs to see. In her mind's eye, she sees the blond hair, the blue eyes. The smile.

Who is it?

JJ?

The name seems familiar in her mind, but other things, things like fear, and pain, and anger cloud it over.

_Don't give up, Emily._

_Don't give up._

_Don't..._

* * *

JJ jerks awake at the sound of the first gunshot, immediately regretting the sudden movement. Her body aches all over, both from the car accident that had resulted in her capture, and the pain their unsub had inflicted upon her since then.

She tests the ropes that bind her wrists together – they're coming loose. She thinks that he must have wagered on being around to stop her from escaping, because the knots aren't particularly good ones. She hears the second gunshot, and panic overcomes her, because really, there's only one reason bullets should be flying.

_Someone's_ here. The team, maybe. Hotch, Morgan, Reid, Rossi. Emily.

Emily.

_I'm so sorry, Emily._

She wonders if it's too late to reconcile her mistakes. Too late to tell Emily how she really feels.

Her fingers scrabble at the knots frantically, and she winces as she feels her fingernails tearing. Her breath comes in short, fast gulps, and she's fairly sure that at this point, adrenaline is the only thing that's keeping her from passing out all over again.

It feels like hours later when she finally manages to pull her hands free. They're dripping with bloods, and her fingernails are raw. All in all it could be much, much worse.

Of course, it still could be – Emily's dead for all she knows. Gunshots aren't traditionally associated with sunshine and happiness. It takes several frustrating minutes to deal with the ropes at her ankles, and when she stands, she almost falls down from lack of strength.

Failure is not an option today.

She pushes forward, but then everything comes to a screeching halt. The door swings open.

Her heart skips a beat.

* * *

The house is isolated – the perfect place to keep a victim without alerting any neighbors to suspicious goings-on. It's good in a way, because it means that their unsub – _Alex Collins – _won't have anywhere to run to, but at the same time, it's bad, because he really could have been doing anything here, and they won't know until they go inside and find out.

Morgan's heart is beating at double-speed. Being out in the field is like a second home to him – he takes to it like a fish to water – but right now, he'd rather be anywhere – _anywhere _– else, as long as he had JJ and Emily with him.

They'd be in a bar somewhere, with Garcia, and, if they're lucky, Reid. JJ would be kicking ass at darts, and Emily would be on her fourth Daiquiri, and pretending that she isn't already completely wasted. Or maybe, taking recent revelations into consideration, JJ and Emily would be out on the dance floor, their slow movements the perfect expression of intimacy. He'd never considered it before today, but now he knows about it, it just seems to work.

Or it _did_, anyway. After today…

They're about a mile away when he hears the gunshots. They strike at his very core, but he's not ready to give up just yet.

He's at the front of the group when the door gets kicked in. His eyes dart from one corner of the room to the other, and he moves to the next door, directing half the S.W.A.T. team to go in the other direction.

The door swings open, and his finger almost tightens on the trigger, but he stops.

'JJ!'

She seems to fall into his arms as he puts away his weapon. As though his presence is the excuse she needs to shut down completely.

'JJ, where's Emily?' he asks, urgency streaming through his voice. The words seem to jerk her into action.

'I don't…I don't know. God, Derek, what if she's…?' Her eyes are wide. Fearful.

'The rest of the house is clear,' someone tells him, and suddenly Hotch and Rossi and Reid are there, and they all seem to come to the same conclusion at the same time.

'Outside.'

* * *

The world is enshrouded in balls of cotton wool. White. Fuzzy. The fall into unconsciousness seems to half ceased, but she's not in any position to get up, either. Stuck in some kind of psychosomatic limbo.

Then she hears her name. It's clearer now, than it had been before, and it takes a split second to realize that it's not her imagination, and then another second to realize that it's JJ's voice.

There's a second voice – Morgan's – telling JJ to stand back. Part of her wants to punch Morgan in the face and tell him to get lost, because she really, _really_ needs to see JJ right now.

'He's dead.' It's Hotch's voice, coming from behind her. He should be angry. She had disobeyed an order after all. She's not going to apologize. She'd put the lives of any single one of her co-workers before work itself any day of the week. If he wants her badge, then so be it.

_Losing your job and the woman you love all in the one week?_ her mind says. _Sloppy, Prentiss._

'It's just a graze,' Morgan announces, his hands at the wound on her stomach, only that can't be right. She's dying, isn't she?

Slipping away.

Cursed.

Anathema.

But then Morgan's not there anymore, he's been pushed out of the way by a whirlwind of blond hair and blue eyes.

'You look like crap,' Emily bursts out without thinking, but it's not really true, because even past the blood and the bruises, and everything else, she is still the most beautiful person that Emily has ever seen. The only person she wants to see.

'Why did you do it?' JJ asks, and there are tears in her eyes.

'You know the answer to that,' Emily says, but it's all she gets a chance to say, because the paramedics are here, and even though both she and JJ are arguing against their need for medical assistance, somehow they end up in separate ambulances anyway, and Emily finally gives way to darkness.

* * *

Several hours later, JJ's acquired stitches, bandages and painkillers, but she hasn't spoken to anyone about what had happened in the house. She needs to speak to Emily first.

Her wish comes sooner than expected – surgery had gone without a hitch, the bullet having just nicked the edge of the abdomen. JJ's entirely sure that her own wounds had required more stitches.

Emily's blood loss had still been severe enough to keep her in bed a little longer though, which is why it's JJ who's commandeering the wheelchair, or, more accurately, Hotch pushing JJ's wheelchair. He leaves her at the side of Emily's bed, giving them both the Southern gentlemen nod. Reprimands will come later, apparently.

'Hey,' Emily says, and while she sounds tired, she's still all there, which is good, because JJ has something she needs to say. 'I'm sorry I got you into this, Jayj, I-'

JJ hushes her, letting her hand touch Emily's. 'This wasn't your fault, Em.'

Emily's eyes are filled with tears and disbelief. 'He _hurt_ you.'

JJ shakes her head, because that really doesn't matter right now. What matters is what she'd come so damn close to losing. It had taken this much for her to realize just how lucky she is. She has someone who loves her, and she's being completely and utterly honest with herself when she says that she's in love too.

The disbelief in Emily's eyes seems to triple when JJ leans down, even though the pain receptors are telling her that it's a very, very bad idea. She lets her lips press up against Emily's, and they're dry, but kind of soft at the same time.

'I love you, Emily,' she says, and in that moment, it really doesn't matter that they've been through hell, because right now, there's no place that she would rather be.

The End.

**a/n: **Okay. That's finished, I guess. What now?


End file.
